Onomatopoeia
by Capt. Cow
Summary: It started with a screech, a boom, a bang and a crunch. It ended with silence. Fiesta and D/L. FINALLY FINISHED!
1. Flack

Onomatopoeia

**Onomatopoeia **

**Authors Note: **Ok, so being relatively new to loving CSI NY I have unfortunately only seen the first two seasons. This means that I am basing this story mostly off those seasons, and the snippets that I have picked up from the others. It is therefore likely to skew into AU. But, bear with it. Hopefully you will enjoy it.

Let me know what you think!

**Summary: **It started with a screech, a boom, a bang and a crunch. It ended with silence. One of the team has an accident from which they may not recover.

**Pairings: **Fiesta (established) + D/L

_Italics _thoughts.

**Chapter 1- Flack**

Flack blamed the traffic. And Stella for her amazing pancakes. And dispatch for informing him of a DB that was right on the edge of his territory, which meant a cross town commute in peak hour when he was already running late.

Damn that woman and her pancakes. He would have been perfectly on time, possibly early (_though lets not get ahead of ourselves) _if she hadn't spun into the room just as he started pulling his pants on carrying a tray of blueberry heaven and looking like an absolute domestic queen. He hadn't had a chance, immediately forgetting that there was such a thing as the New York City Police Department he had stopped getting dressed, simply leaving one sock half on his foot, and flopped back onto the bed, trying to reconcile his usual image of Stella (_tough, scary, sexy-as-hell detective) _with this new insight _(tough, scary, sexy-as-hell Betty Crocker). _

And so it wasn't until half an hour later that he finally made it into the car, buttons askew, hair undone, desperately hoping he had a jacket somewhere in the car because he had forgotten to grab one leaving the house, crossing his fingers that all the usual commuters had taken a unanimous sabbatical so he had a clear run into the station, because only a miracle was going to get him to work on time.

And then of course had come the call about the DB, because isn't that the way he wanted to start his day (he of course recognises that it is probably worse for said DB than him, and he shouldn't really whine, but he is tired and late and there is no coffee to be seen) so he has to throw a sharp U-turn and speed back the way he came, knowing that now there is even less chance of getting to where he needs to be before anyone else does.

He can picture Mac's disapproving look as though the man is sitting right next to him. A quirk of the lips, a knowing eyebrow raised, a flicker of frustration. It is a face that lets him know that if his personal life begins to affect his professional then one of them has to go. Mac is a man who sees everything in black and white, who has probably never been late for a day of work in his life. Sometimes he is so serious Flack doesn't know where he stands. Still Flack knows he should be being more careful. It is hard enough trying to keep a relationship going with another cop without complicating things by lowering job performance.

But she had been wearing an apron for goodness sake. An apron!

He thinks that if he were a prisoner on death row, those pancakes would be his last meal.

Of course, if he were to be a prisoner on death row, Stella would probably be the one who put him there, and she would therefore be unlikely to be baking him anything. Still, a man can dream.

He ponders that they could quite possibly be his last meal anyway, Mac is going to skin him alive for being late and not even Stella will be able to prove he did anything. The head of the CSI unit is the only person on earth whom Flack believes could commit the perfect kill. It is not a comforting thought.

The traffic is murder. As soon as the thought crosses his mind he realises this is a poor choice of words, seeing as he is on his way to a murder scene. Seeing as murder is the thing he deals with on a daily basis. His commute is one time he is not dealing with bodies and perps and blood and motive and means and opportunity, and yet even here he cannot escape his job. The traffic is _murder. _

The man on the radio is blathering away, like every breakfast show host the world over, what he has to say is inane and pointless, and yet thousands tune in simply because it is better than the alternative, sitting in an empty car with naught but engines to listen too. Flack wonders if Stella has gotten out of bed yet, her shift wasn't meant to start for another few hours, but she might have been called in to help with this scene, depending on how thinly spread the rest of them were. It happens more often than any of them would like, overtime, double shifts. They are a small group, often too small for the job that they are needed for, because there are so many crimes in the city, so many, _too many. _He has admired them ever since he was first assigned as a detective, since he first met Mac (the man who could potentially end his life today, for whom he still can't shake a boyish admiration) and realised that he was one of many, many cops, but these guys were in a class of their own, with barely any of the prestige.

Not for the first time Flack longs for a law that means he can pull his siren out and use it for slightly-less-than-emergency situations. He isn't saying he would use it to dash out for coffee, he knows that this is an abuse of his powers, but to get to a crime scene on time (before Mac beats him there and then eats his soul) surely this would be acceptable? He is getting increasingly tempted, until finally, finally the traffic ahead begins to shift, and it looks like he might get there in this millennium after all.

Well thank goodness for that.

He is dying for coffee (there it is again, why can he not escape death even when he is not at a crime scene? Why must it follow him everywhere he goes?) but is not going to tempt fate any further by picking some up on the way. Hopefully someone thoughtful will have a spare cup with them when he gets to the scene. Lindsey is known for this kind of forethought, and often has a thermos nearby ready to give him a fix. He really must remember to tell her what a blessing she is, he doesn't think it is something that she is told often enough. Danny, an excellent CSI and a wonderful friend, is sometimes lacking in the expressing feelings department (something Flack realises he too should probably work on) and so the job of building Lindsey up often falls to the rest of the team.

He wonders what the chances of Lindsey working this scene are, what his chances of free coffee are. When he left last night she had been pulling overtime, checking and rechecking fibres against a suspect who was guilty as sin, but clean as a whistle when it came to actually attempting to make a conviction stick. It was the worst kind of case, the kind that made you sick to the stomach, because job satisfaction was hard to maintain when the law you had sworn to enforce worked against you, helping the obvious villains. It is likely she has gone home in defeated frustration or is still sitting at a microscope, there is no way Mac would reassign her when she is in so deep.

So he will have to wait for coffee.

The road was clearing ahead of him now, which was excellent. He chances a glance at his watch and cringes, even with the traffic whoever was coming from the CSI office would already be there by now. If not Lindsey then Danny? He can picture his best friend now, standing by the side of the road, kit in hand, scanning for the detective who should already be there with enough information to kick start the investigation.

Crap, crap, crap.

Flack speeds up a bit, trying to look like someone who wasn't a cop, and who therefore was entitled to a little bit of speeding.

There will be uniforms on the scene, whoever arrived after the body was called in, and this relieves him a little, he hates to think of whoever it is (in his mind it is now confirmed as Danny, Lindsey will still be trawling for a conviction with her squeaky-clean killer, and the prospect of being this late for Mac terrifies him so much he prefers not to imagine it) arriving on a scene unprotected. At least, and this thought cheers him despite his lateness, there is no way Stella will be there. Even if she has gotten the call there is no way she can beat him there, seeing as she left after him and is coming from the same address.

Whichever uniforms they are he can't help but think that these are his friends, and he should be the one there, watching over them as they first enter the scene. He hates the idea that he hasn't checked it out first, and is feeling more and more guilty as he gets closer to the scene, his speeding cranking up inch by inch as he becomes later and later.

He is just getting to the last corner when the radio call comes through, though it is the "Flack, where the hell are you" that he was expecting (he is now almost 20 minutes later than he should be, despite breaking more than enough road rules on the way) but Danny's panicked voice shouting for back up. He catches a garbled message about a suspect returning to the scene, a uniform being down and a man being on the run in a stolen police SUV.

And then there is a screech of tires as he speeds around the corner to find himself face to face with a speeding car on the wrong side of the road.

Boom.

Bang.

Crash.

Silence.

**Ok, well. That was chapter one. I have never written anything for CSI before, so I'm not sure how it turned out. But please let me know! Chapter 2, Danny, should be up fairly soon! **

**Please review!**


	2. Danny

Onomatopoeia

**Onomatopoeia **

**Authors Note: **Hello again! Thankyou for all those who left a review on the last chapter, it was very exciting to find out that people enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of this one please!

**Chapter 2- Danny**

* * *

Danny knows, without a shadow of a doubt that the sound of the crash will stay with him for the rest of his life. He can't remember a time that he has ever felt this impotent and helpless, except perhaps when they were all standing in the break room that day, watching in slow motion as Aiden's face was perfectly matched to that of a burnt up body.

He thinks he might throw up all over the hospital's pristine floor.

He also knows that he should still be at the scene, processing, trying to find out who it was that did this to Flack. Someone will need to take charge of the mangled wreck that was Flack's car, someone will need to sit there and carefully catalogue each thing in it, photograph all the tiny speckles of blood that are strewn throughout it, try to picture the accident over and over again as they attempt to connect each bit of evidence.

He does not want to go back to the scene and do his job. Once was enough to see those cars ram into each other, to watch in slow motion as Don's bonnet was compressed backwards, to run over afterwards to find his friend unconscious and bleeding from apparently everywhere. He does not want to have to be anywhere near that car ever again. Instead he wants to stand here, hands on head, blood coating his shirt, and wait until the doctor marches out to him and tells him that Flack will be completely fine.

At the same time he knows that the only other CSI who Mac will trust to take over the car is Stella. And Flack would kick his ass if he left her to process that mess all by herself. There is also a small part of him that knows this was his investigation to start with, and therefore his mess to clean up. He wonders if it had been Mac there to begin with if the perp would even have gotten out the door.

He thinks maybe it is best not to ponder this, but to work with what evidence there is.

So Danny finds himself asking the nurses to call him if anything changes. He makes this point rather loudly and desperately, and hopes that they get the message. He knows in the back of his mind that they do this everyday, and are probably fairly well qualified, but at the same time _this is Flack, _and how could they possibly know how important he is?

Only when he is fully satisfied that the nurses are going to keep him updated on everything does he finally turn and walk out the door of the hospital, to realise that his car is back at the crime scene. Because of course he came here in the ambulance, sitting on the sidelines as the paramedic went about trying to stop bleeding (_how can one man lose that much blood?) _and monitor blood pressure, and pulse and respiration, all things that Danny has always taken for granted until he saw how flimsy they were.

When he closes his eyes he is back in the ambulance, hearing numbers that mean very little to him, but a lot to Don, shouted into a radio. He is also standing on a road watching a car accident that occurs without sound. He is trying desperately to open a door that is wedged shut, unable to reach the man inside. He is helpless.

Unfortunately, when he opens his eyes the sensation is somewhat the same. _Helpless_ _can also be translated useless. _

He is standing somewhat stupidly outside the hospital, still covered in blood. His mind is suggesting that he should call Mac, call Lindsey, call _anyone_ to come and pick him up, take him to the lab so his clothes can be processed (it hits him that he needs to be processed because a _vic's _blood is on his clothes. _How can Flack be a vic?) _He is saved the trouble of making any decisions at all when Hawkes pulls up right in front of him. Looking stunned, but at least apparently functioning.

This is more than Danny can say for himself. He is definitely not functioning right now.

"What's happening?" He pre-empts Hawkes asking how Flack is, because that is a question that he cannot answer right now, and he hates having to say I don't know. Especially when it concerns life and death. Instead he wants to focus on work, focus on the job that he doesn't really want to be having to do right now, focus on hunting down the man he let escape not once _but twice. _

By the time they are back at the crime scene (Hawkes didn't even offer to take him home to get changed, and Danny is surprised by how well the man understands) he has been filled in on everything. Thankfully the other uniform who was there (the one who wasn't bleeding on the floor from a chest wound) had been able to fill them all in on what had happened in the apartment, which would save him from a large chunk of explaining.

Unfortunately Danny had been the only one who had actually witnessed what happened next, and even he couldn't quite put it all together. He could only watch over and over again, unable to prevent the final outcome.

It comes in flashes. Beginning to process only to be surprised by a man leaping out of a cupboard… watching the cop go down with a bullet in his chest… getting to the bottom of the stairs… going for cover to avoid the shots that were echoing after him… _bang…bang… bang… _and then suddenly the perp had been in a car (where did he get a car so quickly?) and then Flack had been there, obviously rushing to his aid after his panicked radio call. For a second Danny hates that Don was on the way to help him. (He doesn't consider for a moment that he had been speeding because he was late, because of pancakes. In his mind both cars were moving too quickly, one because he had chased the driver, and the other because he had called him).

There was a moment where time stopped, leaving Danny just standing there on the side of the street, unable to hear, unable to speak, unable to think.

He had looked up to find the smoking wreck laid out before him like an offering.

And then, just as quickly, time had begun again, announced by the return of sounds. Flack's siren had started to wail sporadically, apparently damaged, the police officer upstairs had been bellowing into his radio, wanting to know what had happened, and where his partner's bus was. Danny had sprinted over to the cars, not even bothering to check the perp, but throwing himself against Flack's door, desperate to attend to his friend.

It was only after Don was being taken over by paramedics that Danny had even thought to check the other car. And by this time of course the man who had caused all this trouble, who had killed the woman in that apartment, had shot a cop and rammed another, had disappeared.

Mac was going to kill him for not following procedure and checking both cars.

He thinks he can live with this, but only if Flack lives too.

They have pulled up to the scene but neither has moved. Danny is wondering what Hawkes is waiting for, and Hawkes is apparently working up the courage to ask something.

He can sense the question about Flack as surely as he can sense when Lindsey is cheating at poker.

Once again he cuts it off before he can be forced to answer anything that he doesn't really want to think about.

"Are you going to need my clothes to process?"

Sheldon looks at him like he is mad, and then seems to see the blood on his clothes, as though for the first time.

"Oh. Yeah. Right. I'll grab you something to change into? Just give me a moment."

Now that he has seen the blood he can't seem to get his eyes away from it. Hawkes is a medical man, and Danny can almost see the wheels whirring, trying to work out just how much blood must have come out of Flack. And how little there can be left in there.

Mac has taught them over and over again not to make inferences, to trust the evidence.

But at the moment Danny can see that Sheldon's conclusion from the evidence covering him is not one he wants to hear about.

"I've got some spare clothes in my car. It's parked around the front somewhere."

"Oh." Danny groans inwardly. There is apparently more bad news to come. Sheldon is making the face he makes when he has just found evidence to exonerate their most obvious suspect.

"What's happened?"

"Danny, did you realise that the perp was driving your car when he hit Flack? It's been impounded for evidence. I'm going to have to find you a jumpsuit or something to wear."

He wonders why, of all things, it is the fact that his car might have killed Flack and not the blood that is covering his shirt and his pants, or the shooting, or that beautiful dead girl in the apartment or anything else that has happened since this atrocious day began that sends him over the edge.

Sheldon returns with a jumpsuit in one hand and a brown evidence bag in the other to find a shirtless Danny with tears in his eyes.

"Can you tell Mac I'll be a minute? I need to call Lindsey. I just, I need to talk to her."

* * *

**Ok, well, I thought Danny was going to be the easiest of the team to write, I was in fact wrong, he has proved to be extremely difficult. I am however looking forward to attempting Stella and Lindsey, so bear with me! **

**Please leave a review! Thankyou! **


	3. Stella

**Onomatopoeia **

**Authors Note: **Hello! Sorry about the massive wait for this chapter, I just got hideous writers block lol. Flack was easy to write, Danny was mildly ok, but Stella has been proving impossible. I hope that I have given her voice a satisfactory tone though.

Enjoy, and please pretty please leave a review!!!

Thanks

* * *

**Chapter 3- Stella **

It takes her almost 10 minutes to get out of her car once she arrives at the scene. After she pulled up and saw all the chaos that was going on, the flashing police car lights, the swarm of spectators gathering around the edges of the crime scene tape, the bits of glass and plastic littering the pavement she was very tempted to simply get back into the car and drive away again.

Where she really wants to be is the hospital, sitting by Don's side, gripping his hand, watching him breathe. She wants to be talking to his doctors, his nurses, his paramedic, anyone who can tell her medically what is going on. Underneath all her worry there is a bitterness inside her, anger at Mac that he didn't simply tell her to get in the car and speed off to the hospital as fast as was humanly possible. She wishes he had said turn on your siren and get there, right now. To her the victim is always more important than what happened, or why it happened, or even who did it, and she just wants to see him, touch him, know that he is, at least for now, still with her. Unfortunately Mac can't see a grieving lover he can see an attack on a New York City policeman that needs all of the city's man power to solve. Mac is thinking in terms of crime and punishment. Stella is seeing Don asleep this morning, perfect and unharmed, and wondering how much of a difference the past two hours have made to him.

Sitting in the car she can't help wonder if this is all her fault. Would there have been an accident if she hadn't made those damn pancakes? He was running late because of her after all. Maybe if she had just given him an orange and sent him on his way he would have arrived on time? None of this would have had to happen.

This thought makes her feel incredibly sick.

She had been lying in bed picturing the look on Don's face as she came around the corner in that apron when the phone had rung. It had almost been like she saw him in slow motion, look up, see her, look away, and then look up again eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

She had been thinking about how much she enjoyed that she could surprise him.

She had even, as she lay there basking in the sunlight, stomach full of amazing pancakes (smiling at the fact Don didn't detect her foray into the world of shake and bake…she had been in a hurry) contemplated letting it ring. But ignoring telephone calls was the forte of someone with a less important job than hers, and the knowledge of the responsibility that came with her job had made her groan and roll over, picking up her cell.

Before he even said the words she had been aware that something was seriously wrong. Mac's tone had been cautious and tense as he told her of the accident, though the only words she really picked up were Flack, car and critical before everything else became white noise. Mac had apologised when he told her that she was needed to work the scene, (though she had wondered if he would have worded himself differently if he knew that at that moment she was sitting in Flack's bed, wearing one of his sweatshirts) and told her he would see her soon.

This had left Stella to dress in a daze, feeling disconnected from her body, from the day (which was still filled with the bright sunshine that had so warmed her earlier), from everything.

Now, sitting in her car in an outfit that was far from her usual glamorous look, hair scrunched in a scraggly ponytail, make up unfinished, she had absolutely no desire to go and attempt to competently do her job. Surely Mac couldn't expect her to be able to process a car that Flack had been seriously injured in? Not when she didn't even know if he was ok?

In the end the only thing that gets her out of the car is that she can't stop picturing different car accidents that she has attended in her time, each getting worse and worse. Her imagination, which has always been active, is not an asset in this situation, and it is to escape the increasingly disturbing images of car crashes spinning across her mind in slow motion that she eventually gets out of the car and forces herself to stand straight and walk under the crime scene tape.

Seeing the accident for the first time is like being thrown up against a wall by the Hulk. All of the breath is knocked out of her, and she looses her footing slightly. The two SUVs are so tightly wedged into one another that it looks like they have never been separate. They are identical cars, their bonnets crumpled beyond recognition. As she moves closer she can see that the door on one of the cars has been ripped off, and that there is a heavy blood trail leading out of the car onto the concrete. There is less blood surrounding the other car, although its windscreen is more badly damaged, as though someone flew into it.

Which car was Don driving? In all the chaos she isn't sure which one would be worse. The one with the enormous blood stain, which suggests that he was bleeding freely, or the one with the impact dent on the windscreen, meaning he would have been thrown forward? She doesn't know, doesn't want to know. She wants to see another car hiding around the corner, with a little dent out of the side, and have someone come over and tell her that this is all a terrible mistake, Don just took a little nick and is sitting in the ER getting stitches to a minscule cut on his forehead.

She wants, _needs, _this to all be a big misunderstanding. She has just gotten to a place in her love where she feels safe and secure and _loved_. It is a new and exciting place, and she doesn't know what she will do if she loses the man who has brought her all these wonderful things.

It is Danny's eye that she catches first. He too is simply standing in near the wreck, apparently unable to see the frantic movements of all the people around him who are madly cataloguing the bits and pieces around him. He looks as though he has aged several years since she saw him yesterday. His eyes are bloodshot, and he moves as though his brain and limbs have only met in passing and are unable to coordinate properly. The grey jumpsuit he is wearing makes him seem even paler than he already is. Stella is left to wonder if he was involved in the car accident too.

The moment she gets close enough Danny is talking, rambling about the accident and what happened, and how he should never have let the perp get away. She can tell that he is upset, though she can't understand a word that he is saying, and so she simply grabs onto him and hugs him tightly, trying not to burst into tears. Stella knows the only way she will get through this is to maintain her professional composure. She has to treat this like any other job or she is going to end up sobbing onto the evidence or something equally bad.

Danny is hugging her just as tightly, and they stand there for several moments, an island in a sea of frantic movement and strewn glass.

When they have both calmed down enough to speak she eases herself out of his arms.

"Do you know how Don is?" This is the question that she needs answered, because without some details she will not be able to stop picturing horrific scenarios. All of the horrible deaths she has come across in the past are merging in her head, painting a horrid picture, and she needs to stop thinking about Don being this mangled or she won't be able to finish this day, let alone process anything.

"They…they took him into surgery." Danny's voice is sandpaper rough. "He'd lost a lot of blood Stell. They needed to operate to stop all of the bleeding."

She nods tightly.

"You pulled him out of the car." It is a statement, not a question. Her brain processing the fact that Danny wearing a jumpsuit meant that his clothes must have been taken for processing, as it wasn't his normal attire.

"Yeah. Yeah, I got him out of the car. Rode with him to the hospital." Unspoken in his voice is the fact that he wants desperately to still be at the hospital, and that he knows this is where she yearns to be too.

Danny pulls himself together slightly. Stella can see him arranging his optimistic expression onto his face. He is going to try to reassure her. She can see it coming. This doesn't cheer her though, it does quite the opposite. Because when Danny starts reassuring people things are usually pretty bleak. He is never a glass-half-full person except when he is trying to tell himself as well as others that things are going to be ok.

"He's strong Stell. He'll be up and whining about desk duty before we know it."

Stella can see it in his eyes though. The fear, the guilt. Danny is struggling. Which means that Don had looked dreadful when he was pulled from the car.

She doesn't want to be here. She wants to be back at home, two hours ago, eating pancakes. She wants to be out to dinner, last night, watching Flack spill chocolate pudding on himself and then proceed to lick it off his tie so none went to waste. She wants to be in the breakroom yesterday, feeling the euphoria of finally catching the murdered, Don's proud smile watching over her.

She wants to be tucked up in bed, his arm lying over her, feeling warm, and safe and comfortable.

Unfortunately the only place she can be right now is processing. And so she finds herself grabbing her kit, and walking towards the car, swallowing her tears, determined to do her job and find the bastard who did this.

Because when she did, he was hers.

* * *

**Well. There we are. Not sure how I did. Hmmmm. **

**Anyway. Leave a review please! **


	4. Lindsey

**Onomatopoeia **

**Authors Note: **Hey! A big fat SORRY to anyone who still cares for this story!! There are no excuses!

I hope that this chapter is ok, and that it was worth the ridiculous wait!

Happy New Year everyone!

This chapter was originally going to be Mac, but nailing down his character with all the gruffness and the starting into space thinking and the "let the evidence speak for itself" is proving completely impossible. I'm getting very tempted to simply go back to the start and send him off on a long holiday so I don't have to write him at all…

This is perhaps a cop out…

Enjoy Lindsey's point of view instead!

One last thing, here in Aus season 3 is not yet on DVD, and as I am one of those, come late, watch it on DVD fans I have therefore not seen beyond sseason 2. So if this strays into AU, just grin and bear it please. Thanks.

**Chapter 4- Lindsey**

Lindsey is standing outside Mac's office, when he gets the phone call, feeling as though all the energy has been drained out of her body. She has been crouched at her desk all night, checking and rechecking anything and everything that could be relevant, the Chinese food she ordered after midnight has left a strange taste in her mouth, and she feels rumpled and limp after falling asleep hunched over in a chair. And yet standing outside Mac's office there is nothing in her hands, no folder or evidence bag containing that crucial something which could nail the suspect. He is a smug, white collar murderer, who beat his estranged wife to death, and is going to be made a rich man from her insurance money.

She can almost taste the disappointment that will emanate from Mac when she gives him her findings, though she knows that this is nothing compared to the agony that she will feel having to explain to the woman's children that her case is going to be placed in a box in evidence storage somewhere, never to be solved.

She is surprised, entering the office, to find that Mac's face holds no disappointment, or even sympathy for her. Instead he doesn't seem to notice that she is there, he is engrossed in the phone call. She realises that something the other person has said is disturbing him, because he turns a funny shade, a mix between pea green and deathly pale, and opens and closes his mouth several times, as though trying to remember how to use it.

It would be funny, should be funny, the face he is making, except Mac is asking the person on the other end of the phone things like "which hospital" and "how long will the surgery take", and for a moment she stops breathing because the last thing she said to Danny before he went home last night had been a sort of grunted goodbye, accompanied by an irritated hand wave, and she is certain that he is at a crime scene this morning. Lindsey is pleased that she is holding nothing now, because her hands have started to shake, and it would most likely have clattered to the floor by now. She is trying to remind herself that there are lots of other reasons Mac could be talking on the phone about an accident, attempts to force her mind to concede that he is getting information about a case that has just come up, but the look on his face is screaming that it is someone close to him. And this probably means it is someone close to her too.

It is only when he puts down the phone that he sees her, standing in the middle of his office, completely frozen, hanging off his every word. He doesn't smile, which makes her stomach drop out, there is now no doubt that he is about to give her bad news.

He says Don's name, and she can't help the blip of relief that flares inside her when it isn't Danny. It doesn't last long, because then Mac is talking about head on collisions, and emergency surgery, and next of kin.

She thinks perhaps the worst thing he says though, is that she needs to stay at the lab and keep working on the case that she is convinced will never be solved, waiting for those processing the scene to send her evidence to analyse. Right now she can think of nothing worse than being stuck in a lab surrounded by samples that she has gone over 50 times, with only her thoughts to keep her company. Lindsey knows that Mac is not trying to be difficult, that someone has to stay here, to keep going with other cases, so that there will be room to process all the evidence that will soon be arriving. But she can't help longing for Danny, just to see him, hold him, be convinced that he is ok too.

She is out of Mac's office like a bullet from a gun once he gives her the instructions, because it is to painful listening to him trying to explain the situation to Stella. She tries Danny's phone as soon as she is clear, but it is off, and she realises he must be at the hospital with Don.

20 minutes later she is standing staring at a table of evidence, unable to stop imagining all the things on it colliding over and over again. Her mind is on overdrive, trying to piece the tiny snippets of information Mac gave her together, imagining accident after accident, while at the same time throwing up all the memories of Don that her brain has stockpiled overtime. She can see him laughing with Danny in the break room, singing along to Britney Spears on the radio as they drive to a crime scene, stepping in front of her as a perp pulls a weapon on them, pulling Stella into a kiss when they think no one is looking at them.

Lindsey has never lost a colleague before, despite the danger associated with her job. She can remember the devastation that accompanied the death of Aiden, the somber silences that filled the lab, the fact that no one wore a colour other than black for what seemed like weeks, the guilt that floated in the air like a tangible presence. But it is not something that she has experienced, like the others. She does not want to go through that, has no desire to mourn Flack, to see his coffin lowered to the ground covered in a flag that will in no way replace what anyone has lost. She finds herself wondering what will happen, if Stella will be able to continue at her job, if it will send Danny spiralling into depression, if Mac will retreat into his evidence. She does not want his picture hanging next to Aiden's in the break room, a reminder of what they all have lost.

She hasn't thought about her other case since she heard about the accident, and feels like calling Mac to tell him that she could be more helpful other places, that she would be able to function if she could just see Don, or be around the others and help with the scene. She knows that he has left by now, gone off to the scene himself, and has heard in passing that Sheldon has been diverted to the hospital to collect Danny (whom she still can't get onto). Never before has she felt so much like the new kid on the block, like a trainee, like someone shunted to less important work while the rest of them band together to protect one another. She has been working here for over a year, has been friends with Flack for all of that time, and longs to call someone and tell them this, that she is not a child! She is unable to just sit and look at evidence that has told her nothing since she recieved it more than a day ago. All she can think about is Flack, over and over and over again.

The phone rings, and she finds that she needs to pull herself together, to stop thinking the way she is, because Danny is falling apart on the other end, and one of them needs to be strong-ish. His voice is cracking as he explains what happened, and she longs to be there with him, just holding onto him, because he sounds as though he is fragile enough to simply float away right now. She manages to hold herself together as he talks about the man escaping, and the cars colliding, pulling Don from the car and finding him unconscious. She tries to ease his guilt, encourage him that Don will be ok, that he did everything that he could. Danny has always been sensitive, has always been someone who takes blame upon himself, and she finds that this is no different from various other situations where he has shouldered guilt that was not his to take. She wants to help him more than she is, wishes she could alleviate his suffering, but while he seems to take her words on board she knows that only Don being completely all right will ever fully take his burden away. She both loves and hates this self-punishing side of Danny, though today she finds that it is hard to keep telling him everything will be ok when all she can do is sit and stare at the evidence table, seeing things collide again and again in slower and slower motion.

It is when he tells her about the amount of blood that was covering Flack that she almost loses control and bursts into tears. Don to her is more than just Danny's best friend, he is the one who appreciates her bringing coffee to crime scenes, who calls her up to make sure her hideous cases aren't getting to her too badly, who will pull Danny up when he calls her Montana one too many times in a day. The thought of his blood leaking out all over the floor, all over an ambulance, all over Danny, is too graphic, too awful to bear, and she finds herself gasping for breath. She has to beg off the conversation, to find an excuse to escape before she breaks down and ruins all the good work she hos done, building Danny back up so he is almost able to function again. Danny's voice sounds like a little boy when he tells her he loves her, but then he hangs up to go process the scene, and all she can do is hope that he will be ok with, because all of a sudden it is something she is glad she has to take no part in. The thought of even a drop of blood is sick to her now, and she rushes away from her evidence table, covered in a dead womans splattered clothing, to the break room, tears streaming out for the first time since she heard about the accident. She sits on the floor and just sobs and sobs and sobs, not only because Don is in hospital, and his blood is everywhere but inside him, but because she now can't stop thinking about Don in the past tense.

**Hmmm, I was going to have more in this chapter, but I really like that last bit, and so am just going to keep it at that. **

**Mac's chapter will be up eventually, (either that or I will kill him off so I don't have to write from his point of view…hmmm, that could be easier…). Wish me luck lol!**

**Please, leave a review! They really help crush writers block! And it needs some serious crushing right now!!**


	5. Mac

**Onomatopoeia**

**Authors Note: **Hello all ye faithful readers, that is, anyone who is still there… here is the penultimate chapter of this story. Thankyou to everyone who has been reading and leaving reviews! You are truly awesome and I grovel at your feet. Feedback is brilliant, and so as always I beg for your comments!

The reason that this chapter has taken so long is that Mac is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. And therefore completely ridiculously hard to try to portray. I have seriously had like 10 versions of this chapter over the past few months, and each time it is just NOT RIGHT! Bah! I still don't think that I have him right, but I am sick of this story not being updated as so have just gone with my closest attempt. Sorry that it isn't that long! I wish I had more to offer after the massive wait!

**Chapter 5- Mac**

It is a strange thing, but most of the time Mac likes his job. Of course he would prefer it if there was no need for him to perform his job, but they do not live in a perfect world and so he does a necessary service. But, as they corner a suspect who has created what they think is a perfect web of lies, as they give closure to a family who has suffered a terrible loss, Mac finds can't help but enjoy himself a little bit. It is exhilarating, to use science to trap people, to out think those who believe they will get away with everything that they have done. To give justice to those who deserve it.

The rest of the time, Mac hates his job. The moments when there is no justice, when a smart-talking lawyer means more than hard-won evidence, when they arrive a scene and realise it is a child with bouncy blonde curls who is their victim, when those who should have loved their victim the most turn out to be those who committed the crime. Especially moments when those who he works with, who he is responsible for, are injured because they are part of his fight for justice.

He should feel some satisfaction. They have caught the man who did this, and tied him not only to the murder that drew them to the scene in the first place, but also the shooting of a police officer, and the hit-and-run. It has taken almost 48 hours in which none of them have slept (Mac had half-heartedly tried to force them home at various times throughout the two days, but he is a hypocrite, because there was no way he would rest until the man was found), but finally they have tracked down the perp, gotten a confession, organised what will be a slam-dunk case against him.

It is a hollow victory.

Obviously Flack should be with them to enjoy it. Should be laughing at how worried they all were, should be getting angry because his baseball team isn't winning, should be complaining that hospital food sucks, should be begging them to get him out of the hospital because he's getting just a little _hooked_ on Oprah. Instead he is unnaturally still, a drug-induced coma letting his body heal from the far-too-long list of injuries that plague him.

There is more wrong with the situation than just the coma though. For one, the fact that the perp, when they found him, _only_ had a purple bruise on his hairline, and a sprain on his wrist, while Flack has multiple broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, his entire body a cacophony of unnatural colours. That he could sit smugly in an interrogation room and still have the capacity to lie to their faces, rather than be confined to unconsciousness. Mac can't reconcile the fact that from the same accident come such different outcomes.

For another, Mac doesn't like feeling helpless. Really, genuinely hates it. It was almost easier when they hadn't caught the perp, because then there was the opportunity to focus completely on the evidence, on the science, on the connecting of dots. Mac's brain is one that never stops moving, never allows itself to rest but is always pressing on, trying to think ahead, to make connections. Now there are no more connections to be made. The evidence has led them to the perp, but it has also led him to the point where now all he can do is sit in a hospital waiting room, surrounded by disinfectant and dodgy coffee, and replay everything…because no new information doesn't mean that his brain shuts down, it just means that it keeps thinking about what he already knows. And what he knows is this; Flack was injured on a job, a job that Mac assigned him. Flack may not wake up from the coma he is in, and none of the degrees and learning and science and evidence that Mac has painstakingly collected can help him. Flack is a friend, a good friend, and there is nothing that they can do but wait.

Mac finds himself shifting in the uncomfortable plastic chair that he has chosen to wait in. To his left Danny is asleep, worn out but refusing all advice to go home and sleep. Mac's suggestion that they take turns waiting at the hospital was accepted by the group, but an inability to agree on who take the first shift had left four of them still at the hospital, in limbo. Lindsey is asleep as well, Danny's shoulder working as her pillow. Stella, for all the noise that she is making, might as well be asleep. She isn't however. She is just sitting in a chair on the other side of Danny and Lindsey, staring at the glossy white floor of the hospital with an intensity that startles him.

Mac knows that she and Flack are together, and knows that that makes this harder for her than it is for any of them. Unfortunately all of his experience in the field of forensics has never really equipped him to know exactly what to say when people are worrying over loved ones. Still, she is hurting, and though he can do absolutely nothing to help Flack he can possibly treat the helplessness he feels by trying to ease Stella's pain.

"How you holding up Stell?" He hasn't really been looking at the time, but by the roughness of his voice Mac thinks they must have been sitting there for a while, it feels disused.

She physically jerks, and then looks around wildly, as though surprised that anyone else is anywhere near her. Her eyes are red, and her whole body screams exhaustion, from the way she is slumped in the chair, to the limpness of her hair. Mac can't help but think the last time he saw her like this was after the incident with Frankie, and that is a frame of mind that he never wanted to see her in again. His protective instincts are kicking in big time, and so when she shrugs in a way that is clearly an attempt to get him to leave her alone he presses the point.

"I was thinking of going to get some more coffee? Maybe something to eat? Would you like anything?"

She shakes her head.

Mac is about to press again, to try another angle so that he can attempt to break her out of the funk that she is in when Stella, offers something that he had not really expected.

"I knew I was going to make him late. But I made him pancakes anyway, because I thought it would be funny, because I wanted to do something nice for him, because I was being selfish and I didn't want him to leave yet."

Mac wants to say about a hundred things at once. That he's sorry he called Flack, so that he was late in the first place. That he doesn't think she should feel bad about pancakes when there was so much else going on that day, that he wishes she would stop blaming herself and blame the man they have now apprehended (possibly Mac should tell this to himself as well, but he thinks this is something to leave to another day…) He wants to say that Flack will be fine, that he is strong, that he's a fighter, that if anything he will fight for _her. _

He doesn't say anything of these things though. Instead he stands up out of his chair, ignores the protestation of pins and needles in his legs, and moves over to Stella so that he can hold her hand.

He tries to put everything into the one hand squeeze, because he has discovered that, for the moment, his throat is so tight that he cannot say a word.

The silence is broken, some indeterminate period of time later, by the purposeful clatter of a doctor's footsteps coming towards them.

Mac, despite knowing exactly how unscientific it is, thinks that maybe, just this once, it is ok to cross his fingers for good luck.


	6. Flack again

**Onomatopoeia**

**Authors Note: **What the hell? This story still exists? It has not DIED?

I know. Should any soul still care about this story (yes, you are forgiven if you don't, because seriously, why the hell have I waited this long to update? I had epic, epic writers block, but still, no excuse) then here it is, the FINAL CHAPTER!

I AM SO SORRY.

Particular apologies to Cosmic Castaway, whose attempts to get me to keep going is really the only reason I finally bothered to finish this story.

But hopefully you will enjoy the end!

**Chapter 6- Flack**

Flack wakes up feeling sort of floaty. It's quite a nice feeling, really. He feels warm, and kind of fuzzily happy. His thoughts keep sort of floating out of reach, but he doesn't really mind, because in this state, thinking is irrelevant. He is happy to just sort of meander in floating-semi-consciousness.

Something important, though, keeps intruding into his scattered mind. It is just sort of sitting on the edge of his thoughts, but every time he tries to catch it, to recognise why it is important, it slips away.

Frustration is the feeling that pushes him awake. Annoyance at not being able to work out what is so important.

Coming up out of the fog he starts to become aware of things other than the nice floating feeling. Everything feels tight on his body. It doesn't hurt, it just feels as though he has been stretched over too much canvas. It's an unusual feeling, and he isn't totally sure what has happened that has left him in a bed that feels unfamiliar, feeling all odd and stretchy.

The next thing he notices is that there is an odd pressure on part of his body. He can't account for this either.

He has two options, he can either force his eyes open (something inside tells him that this could possibly be the hardest thing he has ever done, if just attempting to order his thoughts has made him this weary already), or he can start dropping back into the nice floaty happy world that he was in previously. He is just about to do this, because floating was nice, and there was less of the odd tightness when he was just meandering through his thoughts, when the pressure on his side shifts and moves. There is a squeeze on his hand, and he hears a somewhat croaky voice murmur his name.

His first thought is, _pancakes. _His next, soon afterwards, is _that can't be right. _His third, the most coherent of the three, and the one that finally means that he forces his eyes open rather than floating away, is _Stella. _

Everything is sort of blurry for a second, like a camera that can't focus, and then he can see Stella, who is about as rumpled as he has ever seen her. Her eyes are red and puffy, and there are bags underneath them, so apparently the pressure he felt before was her sleeping for what must have been the first time in days.

She is looking at him like he is the second coming, and he can't exactly work out why. He opens his mouth to try and ask just what on earth is going on, because his ears have stopped making a sort of popping noise and now he can hear a steady beeping in the background. The sentence that he forms in his mind goes something along the lines of "Hello Stella, may I ask what is going on please, because I'm quite confused by how I feel and where I am."

He actually makes a sort of grunt noise and then croaks "Stel…" before running out of energy and losing the ability to continue.

She understands him anyway, and he thinks she just might be the most perfect woman in the world.

"Don! You're awake! You've been in a serious accident, and you've been unconscious for almost 3 days. Can you hear me Don? Do you understand?"

He sort of does. If she has been sitting here for 3 days then that explains the bags under her eyes, and the red eyes, and why he feels sort of on top of the world (_drugs, _his mind supplies, _lots of really awesome drugs_), it still doesn't explain how he ended up in an accident. The last thing he remembers is having breakfast? He was having breakfast in bed?

He attempts to communicate his confusion about the accident. How did he get into it? Was anyone else hurt? Was she in the accident too?

She can obviously see that he is trying to ask questions, that he is confused, but she is crying now, deep relieved sobs, and he is pretty sure he won't be getting much more out of her for a moment, because all she can do is smile, squeeze his hand so tightly he thinks he might never get back, and cry.

He can feel himself slipping back to sleep again, and wants to do something to reassure her that he will wake up again soon, it takes a bit of effort but he squeezes her hand, and hopes that she can understand what he doesn't have the energy to say.

* * *

It takes another week before the hospital will release him. He spends this week getting slowly more coherent. The downside of this is that as he takes less of the good drugs, which means his mind can come back to a semi-normal level of functioning, he hurts more and more.

This, and the fact that daytime television is soul-destroying, means that he is quite grumpy by the end of the week.

Amazingly, this doesn't deter anyone from visiting him.

Danny is there the next time he wakes up, commentating the baseball as though they are having an actual conversation. He mentions that Stella has gone out for some food, and then chats away as if they are on his couch drinking beer watching the game, rather than sitting in a sterile hospital room. Flack is still groggy, but he knows relief when he sees it, Danny's just manifests differently to Stella's. It takes another 3 visits for Don to get him to open up about what's bothering him, but soon enough they cover the fact that Danny blames himself for Flack speeding to the accident site, and Flack is able to reduce this guilt by telling the actual story of why he was racing, at least, as much as he remembers of it. It keeps popping back to him in flashes and dreams, he is in the car accident over and over again. Sometimes he hears it, other times it is just total silence. It's strange, because there are still moments about which he remembers nothing.

Mac's visit is more sombre, in that there is less baseball talk, and more serious discussion. Mac talks him through everything that actually happened, and is sure to mention (at least 3 times, it is obviously an important point for him,) that they caught the man who did this too him. Flack isn't quite sure what to do with all the worry that emanates from his unusually sensitive boss, and so he just sort of nods and thanks Mac, and hopes to get well soon, so that they can go back to their friendship which involves manly conversations about things other than mortality and car accidents.

Lindsey comes to visit too, she brings him a huge bunch of flowers, a big silly balloon that says "Get Well Soon," and a teddy bear dressed as a policeman. She almost goes through her whole first visit without tears, but right at the end, as Stella reappears with coffee ready to take her seat back, Lindsey's voice cracks a little as she gives him a gentle hug and tells him how glad she is he's ok.

Stella, of course, sits with him every opportunity that the hospital will let her, and then tries to sneak back for more as well. He finds her very endearing how she shouts at the hospital staff each time they try and remove her.

He finds it less endearing when they leave the hospital, and his first opportunity to have real food is quashed.

Stella doesn't explain it, as he tries to direct her to the nearest café that does an all day breakfast, she just flat out states that there will be no pancakes for a while, because they are a dangerous evil food that causes terrible things to happen.

Flack decides that this is probably a conversation for another day, as he takes in the scary don't-mess-with-me expression on Stella's face. He thinks that part of that conversation will definitely be him asking her why he can't seem to get an image of her in an apron out of his mind, because that seems like something he definitely wants to remember.

**Ok, so, it's dodgy, I know. BUT IT'S FINISHED. I feel that now I can get on with my life. Please leave a review, if you have managed to get this far, would love to know what you thought!**


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